


Light the Night Sky

by tzingfung



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Alternate Universe - The Song of Achilles Fusion, Background Relationships, Blood and Violence, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Multi, Mythology - Freeform, Promptis - Freeform, Reference to verbal abuse, Sad Ending, Slow Burn, tsoa au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 23:42:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15035870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzingfung/pseuds/tzingfung
Summary: "My prince of mine? He was nothing but the flourishing gold you see in fairytales."A tale of two halves of a soul collapsing within each other. Inspired by The Song of Achilles.





	1. PROPHECY I.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the two boys with one entwined destiny, I give you this.

“ _O’er rotted soil under blighted sky. A dread Plague the Wicked has wrought. In the light of the Gods, sword-sworn at his side, ‘hast the dark the king’. Battle is fought from the heavens high, to the Blessed below, skies he beam of a peace long besought. Long live thy line and these stones divine, for the night when all comes to nought._ _”_

_Verse from c o s m o g o n y 15 : 2, NADIR¹_

 

**PROPHECY I. - “An unturned fate one still hot for moulding, owned by the one who seeks riches but not with gold, shall run fleeting shoulders with opportunity but not without a blunder.”**  
  
All before, since the very beginning, Prompto knew that surely Noctis meant everything, if not to him then to everyone.  
  
While still weeping with youth, whereupon Prompto found himself smothered in the haunting shadows that disdained the school’s luminous though sparse building flickered in the light by the sunny horizon beyond. A time when he was very young, roundish and his face fruitful of spurting youth and an abundance of freckles. A camera, thickset and almost rotund as well as being very much old, was within the boy’s stubby plump fingers, he was fiddling with the dials, adjusting the colours and the zoom where it scouted across the school’s yard. He liked his spot there behind the school, where the shadows cooled his flustering skin, the lack of childish mull from the other students were a mollified din and to only ring thinly against his ears. He had enough concentration and alone time to focus on his favourite hobby: photography.

The rectangular lens shrunk and grew as he played about, that is until it abruptly paused on the perfect centrepiece. A slender boy about his age with inky black hair and skin that glistened gold against the sunlight flourishing him as he skirted around the school’s track, laps ahead of his competitors that lacked any of his physiques. Sand danced about his ankles as he made way cutting corners, drawing in glares all around. The air swept him up in a trance-like dance and Prompto couldn't take his eyes off him.

Prompto caught himself gaping.

“You’ll catch flies doin’ that, shortstop.”

It was an older boy, one that sleuthed around the playground with his friends, a gruesome trio in hopes of finding something diminutive to eat up. The leader of the pack, broke into his cracked smile he looked down towards Prompto’s abruptly shallow face. It was from fear. Fear of him and his friends and what is to follow.

_How is it they always can find me?_

He felt the sickness gyrating in the deepest depths of his stomach. If only he could run, run fast just like that mysterious boy.

“Except they already head your way, don't they? Considering you're a piece of shi-”

“What do _you_ want?”

“Talking back now, are we?”

He gave both of his friends a sly side-eye that made Prompto gulp, feeling the thick thud of nausea reach up to his throat, that had threatened an escape.

“I don't want any trouble.” Prompto complied rather mousy.

“Well, that’s just too bad.” He could hear the knuckles tether in a crunch, bones scraping bones, another sensation he, unfortunately, knew too well of.

Prompto instantly flinched, an instinct that grew sharp with experience.

_“Would you like me to tell your mother again like what happened last time, Iker? Did she take you to a military school right, to sort you out? They should know you well by now.”_

A voice steady, that grew warmer and louder from behind him. An angelic ardour devoured his resenting fear that innately punished him to cower at the lower depths of the playground floor.

The boy, _Iker_ , muttered harsh tones under his breath, but he reproached and gathered up his friends with one swift arm movement as if he were wearing a large drowning cloak that shrouded his shoulders, obscuring everything.

Prompto had gotten up, his breath drew sharp in alarm, but soon it raised to a final halt as he saw his saviour. “Thanks, Luna.” He awkwardly rubbed his neck, it so seemed she had a habit of saving Prompto through the skin of his teeth.

She would normally smile warmly after such a case, radiate security and forgiveness but that day Prompto could only live with the grief. Her lips set in stone in a deadpan line, grave though still with her graceful touch. A goddess carved from marble and filled with life’s ichor to the very tips of her bones.

“What?” Prompto was looking back and forth between his camera and then towards Luna, she simply shook her head.

He was still dumbfounded as to why the girl would still linger by his side, to care enough to protect such a simpleton. She was the most popular girl in school, a half-deity at that, not everyone could say they were. Actually, it was through happenstance, a rush of blurred words, a slur of broken actions that led up to this very moment. A puddling lost puppy fumbling over his four paws, confusion and heartbreak consuming his stare and harsh erratic barking. It didn’t waver Prompto, he simply saw himself in the lonesome pup, took him gently in his arms and found the address luckily wrapped around his neck, dangling like a lifeline. It led up to Lunafreya’s doorstep, where he witnessed her beauty firsthand for the first time, her hair drooping down, wavering to her pointy elbows where her long fragile fingers had been tapping patiently, rhythmically.

As soon as she saw the little fellow, she apparently knew well of, she leapt to her knees and the dog came running with a new springing energy he had conserved until he would see his owner once again.

“Technically, he’s not mine.” She mentioned offhandedly as she ruffled up the little pup’s ears in delight.

“Oh.” Prompto was a little alarmed, how could this be?

But she shook her head quickly and smiled dismissing his small disdain that appeared.

“She’s a shared puppy, my friend and I found her in the pound a while back and so she lives between here and there.” She nods towards the distance.

Prompto looked behind him and across the long winding streets, he saw what she meant.

“What? The palace?”

She nods and he could not help but snicker, but her sincerity did not falter, he didn’t doubt her since.

So when Luna sighed and the beautiful breeze curled around her lips pushing them up to a small dejected smile, she took Prompto’s hands in her own and he felt everything, just as he always did with her, the security, serenity, qualms faltering and collapsing grateful for her touch.

“You need to find some friends Prompto, these boys- you’re not helping yourself you know.” Her voice was steady and tranquil but he thought he heard it falter slightly, a hiccup, a scratch mid-song.

“I have you.” Prompto blinked at her but she simply chuckled lightly back.

“You do, but I won’t always be here.” She looked towards the side, Prompto followed her stare towards the mysterious boy crushing wind and sand under his powerful touch.

 

The sun was spurting its final rays for the day, one late drooling afternoon. The school’s interiors were ghostly turning itself into a cavern with its own glorious width and weight when left unoccupied, but there were echoing cheers gleaming with gasps at sudden outbreaks from the building’s far side. Everything was shut down for the night but the natural light dipped enough to glimmer brightness through luminous descent that made the whole hallway polish in a tangerine flush. There were only two shadows dancing on the linoleum floors at that time when everyone else was elsewhere causing havoc in a small friendly school event that had been running annually since the school’s infancy. Though one shadow so unknowingly to the other, for Prompto, innocent in gleam and full of jitters and skittish exasperation in accordance to everything that was about to happen. Albeit, it wasn’t within Prompto’s hand, not really, Luna more than recommended this scenario to play out and when did he ever disobey her?

The mysterious boy rattled open his locker, whereupon the letter was then plucked from a swollen but recently bloomed flower that was, in fact, the infatuation of Prompto’s heart, —though, he knew nought then— poured out into his writing, pulled up by its roots by curious touched fingertips. The boy smiled, that made in turn, Prompto smile pitifully to his own accord, as it stood.

But without an introduction, a voice, chilling and remarkable in its own childlike confidence grew towards them, no longer the lonesome wading shadows that bumping into each other’s quietened worlds. The letter was now whipping up behind the boy like a fallen leaf discarded by its fatherly tree. The new acquaintance already seemed to be accustomed to the mysterious boy, who allowed the note to fall dead behind him as their shadows enlarged towards the glowering sun and where only Prompto was left with the letter, both discarded in the empty hallway.

Prompto rubbed his shoulders, needing to feel some kind of touch, it felt almost swollen by the weight it had suddenly bestowed. It resonated strongly, down through his muscles and right past his bones, his actions replaying, memories acting as a powerful blow to Prompto’s stomach.

When he arrived back outside, as the voices crashed like ocean winds against him in a rush, he was suddenly pulled to the side, staring right into the devil’s eye. His own father’s stare seemed to bulge with might.

“Where have you been?” It needn’t have an answer, he was already succumbing towards his next few steps. Prompto’s father was hard-headed, to say the least, while on the other hand, his mother was said to be weak, to lurch against his indestructible hold on the world that he felt he had all the control over. They looked nothing like father and son, and as far as Prompto was concerned, he gladly appreciated such, least approximate distance to such details, the better.

His father also happened to be the gym coach at his high school, in their particular case it was a high note that resonated with the faculty’s dim-witted hierarchy and for what it’s worth, he had a big favour in the track team, though that would make more sense later on. Other schools had football or baseball, their school had track and there was one simple reason for its peak.

“Did I miss anything?” Prompto didn’t care so much but anything than the heaving feeling of the drunken bull’s seething rage, his father showed no mercy.

“No. But look, it’s starting.” He had a strong hold on Prompto’s meaty shoulder, pointing towards the distance where there was a swarm of beading eyes resting towards a dashing centrepiece, carving attention through the marvel of his movement.

There he was, Son of Regis, Prince of Lucis running and running, smokes of dust profusely born about his heels as the power of light struck him with speed around the track. Prompto meagerly watched from the sidelines, a speck within the many as he saw what no other did. Noctis, he was to him, a closer being yet so far from his mortal reach.

But he didn’t know that yet.

 

The sun had finally weakened into pale colours, diminishing the adject day, Prompto remembered that fruitfully, after such an expanse to nothing of a heated and turmoil afternoon. But to see the day slowly turn, how the sun was there one moment and in a blink, a gulp and there it went. He felt age do itself the same kind in him. He was clicking a pen while lounging lazily back on his chair, no, not his chair, _his_ father’s, who at the time stood outside his dainty office where Prompto had currently been seated, puncturing feats after feats at his champion track team, they won after all, with flying speeding colours. Prompto waited until his father left with the others after finishing the conversation with an earthquake of a laughter joined by all but one that the room still held, a lingering tired boy, the mysterious boy. Though he didn’t look that tired to Prompto, his face grew no line, no pressure from his eyes straining to stay awake and no knock to his broad straightened posture, as if his muscles were merely flexed throughout the whole run. Prompto didn’t know what the other boy was waiting for, did he know that he wasn’t alone and that Prompto was just on the other side of the door?

“Um, hi there.” Prompto edged out awkwardly from his father’s office door. Noctis had been kicking at the worn out carpet that had been ripped away from its wooden plank beneath his feet. He nodded in acknowledgement to Prompto’s greeting and didn’t pry further.

Prompto fell away in disbelief, fat lot of good that would do you for a long-winded conversation. He shuffled slowly closer, a little too eager to find approachable.

“So, uh, well done for today and all that.” He was tapping his fingers against his thigh, trying to drill in his excessive energy anywhere but into his jittery voice. He almost hitched in a shocked breath too when Noctis finally looked up to him suddenly. Prince. Prince Noctis to him, looking right at Prompto, seeing him for what he really was, would you believe it. But he didn’t know who he was back then, but a pretty boy he admired from afar.

“You’re the secret admirer.” Noctis snapped his fingers and it might have clicked in Prompto’s mind if it weren’t so sudden of a turn of events.

“What?”

“The letter I got today.”

Prompto felt his knees wobble. _Oh._

“W-well, I wouldn’t say secret. I did write my name- and admirer, I uh, well isn’t that excessive?” Prompto was blundering, he could feel it reel out of him like a magician's handkerchief pulled from his magical oesophagus.

“Well, are you?” Noctis’ voice was blunt, like a saw’s fine cut through smooth wood. The sound still blazing in your ears with an uncomfortable touch.

“Yeah, it was me.” Prompto folded his arms getting a little irked and restless with the conversation, but Noctis seemed indifferent, he chewed on a breath that broke into a washed up snicker, Prompto would have missed it if he hadn’t been watching him so intently. He was about to ask him them, ask what was so funny, that did it all convulsed into some weird friendship between them now. And if it were true, it could have dismantled Prompto’s hardship into a sweet soft sounding lullaby but before he could get an answer the door squeaked open beside them.

“Noctis your ride is here.” Prompto’s father was towering at the door, the light behind him absorbed by his figure and vanished. He looked pointedly at his son, “You, we’re going home.” One harsh broken unapproachable tone and Noctis’ one lasting glance before all was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹ From Cosmogony/Origin of the Stars book series found within the game. This particular passage was found at Cape Caem.


	2. PROPHECY II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the support, if you could in any way spread the link to this fic to friends or on twitter, tumblr, to space even- whatever you can think of, that would help greatly as I was a complete idiot last time and backlogged the first chapter. Small trigger warning but all the same important: there’s hints and references to emotional and verbal abuse in this chapter, just as a fair warning.
> 
> I hope you're relaxed, settle down and enjoy this and the rest of your day/night!

**PROPHECY II. - “Broken glass shattered before his naked feet, he must go forth where his own life is finally led by himself. His prince lays ahead, obscured from vision but their entwined fates as clear as the Gods eyes could see.”**  
  
Prompto remembered the date, crisp as the first crunch of a fresh red glowing apple and as clear as a warm summer’s solstice birthed in childhood memories. Though the day wasn’t actually midst between one hot blistering summer day to the tiring everlasting next, no, it was an ordinary wispy October day, turned not so ordinary. This was not a hint at his personal life where Prompto had now turned a fresh new leaf, now at nineteen years of age. Yes, he remembered that day well. But his birthday wasn’t the main focus that day if at all, merely a dirty speck on a windscreen. Each of his birthdays was simply facts rather than any kind of celebration. Told again and again by his father, that it was a day each annual year, one step closer to the solitude of the blanket of darkened death. His parents recognise no beautiful celebratory ordeal, therefore Prompto simply learnt over the years to see it as any other day.  
What made the day so special and memorable was the promise of the whole land to visit Altissia, a national holiday for a very special event all to be dealt with the girl Prompto handed his life to saving all through high school, soon to be a princess and the big reveal was with who, who would make her royalty?  
  
The land of Altissia despite it being known for its buzzing business and milling crowd, it was besieged by a magnificent lake, adjacent to its small fishing spots that were scattered numerously about to every fisherman’s joy. To top it off, a large arena was thrown aside amidst the blue water, it held the most dangerous and deadliest monsters known to man, all fought for grave entertainment, people come for the self-gratification and come out with their hands dirty.  
  
A large gondola grew sharp in width as it staggered towards Prompto’s feet where the dock lay.

His father pulled him in before the boat had fully stopped and they were off to the celebrations.

“You’re lucky.” His father, who somehow grew more so in size, sitting hunched over at the back of the gondola, growled. If Prompto hadn’t turned and had seen his mouth move, his negative comment would have been awash by the sudden gush of crowds screaming, that had slowly begun to paint the scene that was laid out before them.

“And why is that, father?” Prompto felt the aggravation boil small and painful bombous boils under his skin, heated red and soon to burst.

“The soon to be princess took you under her wing at a young age before most knew of her, I couldn’t imagine why such a beautiful girl would do such a thing with a boy like you but you’re lucky.”

Prompto’s face was swollen crimson, as the figurative boils that continued to bubble fumbled uncomfortably consuming his entire body.

“No, whoever she is wedding, is the lucky one here.” The monstrous man behind him could have passed off playing in the field of death in the Colosseum almost, he snorted and as he snorted, Prompto felt his hair tickle the tips of his ears as the breeze past him.

“You are right. You failed at pleasing her, you had a good chance too, ripened in your puny hands, being beside her, hip to hip for so long and still, we will witness that she has fallen for another.”

The man slapped Prompto’s back, partnering it with a disgusting guffaw. Prompto felt a scream riddled with bile spring a strain to his throat, one that nearly escaped him and from his reach, but with luck, the crowds had finally inflated to its peak, hiding any groans that had escaped him as they reached the dock to the mainlands.

“Come, boy.” His father pulled him out of the gondola, leaving him staggering back to a normal stride beside him.  
  
The buzzing crowds ran for miles, it was hard for Prompto to see anything but. He bit his thumb, nerves struck gold, his father grew restless and stampeded like the bull he was through the crashing waves of waddling crowds, leaving a blazing trail of disgruntled folk and Prompto mumbling messes of meek apologies. He slammed hard against his father’s back who faltered into the perfect viewing spot for the palace’s balcony. The crowd’s voices began to purr, a humming tidal wave that lapsed gently in the atmosphere. Then, as sudden as a whisk of blustery winds picking up on a breezy day, an echoing chamber of trumpets drew a vast tune. A giggling sensation broke out of its cocoon in the pits of Prompto’s stomach. An excited breath escaped his lips as a familiar figure walked out onto the marble white balcony that shone its own natural spotlight from the boiling sun. Her smile wasn't taunt as Prompto had been imagining it would, as if the loosely arranged marriage by the Fates had tightened her in an inescapable vice, instead her limbs sprang to life, a silent melody chimed about her and her arms gesturing the crowd imitating a ballet dancer, as she laughed merrily with the crowds that marvelled at her, cheering as one. In some hope, though however unlikely it sounded, Prompto wanted her dreamy eyes to bestow his own, for flashbacks of their past life to flash in her mind’s eye. A reminder of their old and now cladded with dust friendship left untouched for years but her eyes skirted past him and fell among the many. Someone was announcing now, it sounded simultaneously far but as close to shouting into Prompto’s ear. They took time to riddle up the crowds as if this whole event was really a mediocre game show on primetime TV. There were a few sizzled out cheers then, mangled with torn whispers, the voice directed all attention back to Lunafreya, who already seemed to float above the crowds, higher than any other, already looking like the princess she was born to be.

Although the day would reveal blindfolded secrets of who the Fates had chosen for Luna to wed, this was no proposal, but rather a reveal of a large prophecy, this was a sign for hope and a bright future after crashing winds of competing leaders and broken fellowships. A proposal was a choice, but a prophecy was a future written in stone, a rite of passage from the Gods, there was no way out of the Fates' grasp, even when there seemed to be one, it takes a dire turn and a route straight back to them. Lunafreya commanded the crowds' voices to lower to nothing but higher than an electrical hum. They obeyed so lovingly, she was already theirs, no need for any winning over, they already pledged their allegiance, allowed themselves to be played by her delicate healing hands.

“I have wondered for the longest time how my life would play out, what was in store and laid ahead right before me. When already being a demigod gave me more than most from my birth that in itself did not come from a bloody bath but from ichor and gold.” Luna’s soft voice paused but it still rang in everyone’s ears, just as beautiful as your favourite music playing over and over, staying in your mind like an old friend.

“I would never let that get to my head, to ignore the needs of my people just because of the hierarchy we achingly have to set foot by foot to death in, no, I will stay by you, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand.” There were many cheers then, a curt smile but she raised a hand to falter in such early celebrations. “You have all waited enough, it is finally time, too, of course, reveal to you all such lovely people that have taken me in with generous loving hands who you have been waiting for...”

Of course, Lunafreya would mention such.

She had been a healer since she was the human age of five. Once people had found a local deity had set foot on their land, one so forgiving and thoughtful at that for such a tender age, they fell to the ground she had set foot on instantly, she was like the goddess Hygieia herself. Their own personal goddess.

Finally, the sun was a startling sheet of white, Prompto’s dazed self, saw the outline of a figure emerge from behind his old friend. There were gasps, a few that threw some sentiment also into the mix and some even, that were not so surprised, but greeted the new introduction with newly born excitement.

About a few months back, there was a stir in the usual events of Prompto’s ill-lived life. He was invited by his father who heard some mutters in the village about an evening, a special one where princes and princesses across the lands were to visit. The great beautifully known Lunafreya was in need of some royalty to wed, the Fates knew she would but to whom, it was unclear. They were instead, to invite all these guests and judge them themselves as they step forth.

His father, as soon as he returned came to his son excitedly, new chickens clucking and upturned still in his grip, he had one thought and one thought only, “We must go.”

It didn’t matter that Prompto was not royalty, his father needed the money, he needed the fame more so, he didn’t care for the rest, he did what he could to slip into the gates and get into that hall and push Prompto into the centre before the three Fates and Lunafreya herself.

When they had finally arrived, horses stowed and collected, large thick double doors unfolding from their hinges, Prompto felt the thick air lull towards him, it was much more crowded than he expected.

“I don’t think this was a good idea, father.”

He swatted him away, sashaying towards the food, the drinks, and admiring the audacious crowds leaving Prompto to be picked from a selective crowd to join a circle in the main hall that winged itself from the entrance where everybody else stood.

In turn, groups would go in, come forth and state what should be admired in them, then Luna would judge each but to her own privacy and then they are to wait for the news. Prompto’s group was the first to go in.

Confidence hung deep in the atmosphere, men and women alike, chins up to the ceiling, backs straight and shoulders higher than the tallest tower, they were privileged in every sense of the word, that Prompto had never witnessed personally in his own life. It was stifling, Prompto felt his stomach fall into a bottomless pit inside of him. But mostly, what Prompto couldn’t get his mind to shift away from was the fact he hadn’t seen Luna since finishing high school, he hadn’t grown up every inch of the day together as they had done so before, a few years had passed. He knew she was the one veiled in the middle, there were four thrones in total at the head of the spacious hall that clambered up vastly when everyone shuffled in. Her throne was much taller, white embellished with golden flowers embellishing its borders, while the others were dosed in deathly black, as dark as the veils covering their occupants, Luna was also veiled, she was obscured with lace, white like her linen dress, wrapping around her feet, its design looked like melting marble, as it drooped about her she looked like the running waters of a stunning waterfall where only her hands were revealed.

She had shifted forwards as the large doors clambered to a close, a few jumps rounded about at the distancing echo that fell away from the hollow wood. Lunafreya lifted the creams and whites from her face, a smile painted with ruby red, and all eyes fell towards her as she shined as freshly sculptured gold and marble. A masterpiece. Prompto’s mouth was agape, she had indeed become even more beautiful. She addressed everyone with her usual magical milky glare and stretched smile, it would grant everyone’s wish with eye contact alone. Luna’s eyes fell short of Prompto, a small lingering touch before so but left at once. Whatever was there, whatever secured for tinier than a second fell away like crumbling stone. The Fates sat dead still behind her, nothing was giving them the attention but eyes would not help but linger, much like the curious temptation of kissing death itself. But somewhere under the deep silks and velvets as dark as the pools of a night sky with no lights or stars or the glorious moon to unveil it, it was an abyss that bore its deep knowing eyes down onto Prompto, judging and choosing his next steps. Luna looked down a long scrolling list that fell like a wedding dress train to her ankles, her smile had fallen when she stopped on a name.

“It seems only one could not make it today, Prince Noctis of Lucis.” There were a few that smiled at each other knowingly. Prince Noctis is from around here, he had more chance than any to wed the beautiful deity that stood before them, now he showed he was truly a coward, they felt they had a winning chance.

Maybe it was obvious then what was come to be when the rattling stirring breath and movement of the three Fates shuffled the slightest movement at the news. Though, what could they do, they accepted every such sudden happenstance with reluctance but knowing fully well that every path would lead to the same road in the end.

Maybe that’s why Prompto felt a change in the air that day, his heart ramming against his ribcage and his stomach falling at a name he had not heard of for a very long time.

 

And then…

He looked ravishing, fiery as the sun that shone on his skin and a dazzling ball of energy seeping through him as if Helios himself had somehow conjured himself up within him.

“Please welcome, Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum, son of King Regis of Lucis.” The last words were drowned as the cheers elapsed her like a great typhoon, but her smile grew, glad more than anyone of the results that had come to be.

_Was she happy? Like really happy then? Before it had all caved in? Ultimately the Fates must have known, all of it, they had to- please say she was happy, just this once._

 

Not even a year had passed when Prompto was working around the back of his small home, where the farm lay across a few acres of land, enough to home chocobos, herbs and vegetables. He liked to go harvest the magical herbs as soon as the storms have paused and the leaves still linger with wet tears from earlier rainfalls. The rhythmic sounds of the plucking ringing lightly in the soft atmosphere, while his small black chocobo, named Carmanor after the cretin harvest god—Prompto loves to just call him Carm—would follow him about like the small puppy he had found years ago. “Come now, I have work to do.” but Prompto couldn’t help but crack a smile through his stern words, ruffling Carm’s feathers as he chirped brightly at his owner and friend. He nudges his head into Prompto’s hand as he gets up, “Hey! That tickles.”  
All serenity out in the small farm was cut short when he heard a loud bellowing originating from the house.

Prompto instinctively ran in, giving a glance of disdain to Carm who only looked back with dowie black eyes. The room was the room he knew all his life, it sheltered the good, the bad and the ugliest of all memories. When he was younger, reaching to the knees of his mother, he would dance about her feet which were planted in front of the sink overlooking the vastness of their farm as he had done the dishes, she would hum the anthem of their lands, it came out as sweet as caramel from her lips. As Prompto grew old enough, he was the one at the sink, staring into the vastness, with wetting determination to expand his sight further than these lands one day, he would hum the same tune as his mother, while she then sat in one their stubborn rocky wooden chairs, still and among the solitude with each wink of the days going by.

“Mother?” He called out, she was squatted on the floor, knees bloodied as her hands, they were sketched with thin lines of red ribbony blood. She was collecting glass that had fallen and broken. “let me do that.” She swatted at him but he squeezed her shoulder and she sat back into her usual wooden chair, still, watching the wetness of her hands' tether together.

It was silent for a while until a creak as loud to them as an earthquake came from the floorboards upstairs. Prompto sighed. “He shouldn’t be drunk this early.” It was a useless remark, his father was always drunk and it didn’t matter what time of day it was. “What happened?”

His mother was so still he had to double take. “Here.” He got up after cleaning the floor and started to wash her wounds with a cloth.

“You shouldn’t kneel in the glass, or pick it up with bare hands.” She just nods uselessly.

“He was just annoyed, someone at the market, he didn’t say anything-”

“Did he….” Prompto started but didn’t want to finish it.

“No, you know he never touches us.” But his words, they could slap just as hard at times.

“No… still.”

“His drunken words they’re… they’re just that.” She fell limp, no one in the room believed it, they pierced as hard as the glass had done to her hands and knees.

“He dropped the glass trying to place it on the table.”

  
“He’s upstairs?” She nodded again, now her hands were bandaged from the first aid kit they had in the kitchen, she touched her fingertips to her forehead, closing her eyes. “Wait here,” Prompto muttered.

Prompto drew a breath and tried to refrain walk from an urgent run up the stairs. The stairs creaked more than they ever did, each made him wince. He could hear his father’s erratic breathing coming from his own room down at the end of the hallway. But as he arrived he was louder, “What did you do?” He was almost startled to hear how strong his voice came away from him, how calm it was under the lightheaded anger that swayed him.  
But he was even more surprised when his father’s shots of breathing faltered and he turned on his heels and a smile, no a full on grin had marked his creased face.

“Nothing.” He had said, “nothing.”

“Liar. You had walked away from your messes as you always had.” Prompto was still shocked by his own voice as it was constructed, he was almost too afraid to stop. He stepped forwards, the floors creaked with a sigh of relief. Prompto felt like he was on a pirate ship setting sail through a disastrous storm, while an argument was held at the centre of the main deck. Mutineer against his own captain.

“It wouldn’t matter either way.” the ship felt like it was rocking side to side, teetering towards the captain in Prompto’s stomach now, the captain is winning, he always wins. A sickening grin, it was sheer sickening, smiled down at Prompto. “I could have been so much worse, boy, you’re lucky.” If he only knew the definition of luck.

“Maybe, maybe it didn’t even matter all these years but now-”

“This the last straw, kid?” The smile didn’t go, it didn’t rid itself.

“Well, yeah.” Prompto didn’t even know himself then, he felt possessed by some fierce god.

A beat of nothing then a grandiose laughter unearthed itself through the dust and dirt from his father’s body, right from its core. It filled the room, contaminating it, there would not be a single moment where Prompto would not hear such a thing in the middle of the night, echoing distantly. He looked into his eyes then, his father’s grey eyes, they were vacant. He wondered if anyone ever occupied this evil vessel.

Prompto worked hard on the farm, it gave him muscles, it gave him strength, heaven forbids he ever needed it against his own father.

“This is it father.” his father paused in his rumbling laughter to look at his so-called son quizzically for only an ounce of a moment before a short chuckle sprouted once more.

“You have no idea, kid.”

Prompto noticed it all now, he was so struck by his father looming in his room, shrinking everything in size that he didn’t see that all his belongings were askew, tossed aside.

“What are you doing in my room?” Maybe a question he should have led off with.

“Hm?” He lifted the photo then, the one of Prompto and Luna when they were younger.

“I just felt nostalgic, you know?”

“You’re lying.” Prompto felt voice was starting to give away, he wanted to rip that photo out of his filthy hands. His father’s face grew sharp, shadows cascading nothing but mean drunken malice.

“Where is it? I know you have it.”

Prompto knew what he was on about. “I don’t know what you mean.” His voice intermingled with rage and fear. Prompto had to think fast. “What are you doing? Stop that.” His father was creating havoc again turning over every nook and cranny twice.

_He can’t find it, he can’t or-_

“Oh well, here is the little devil!”

He lifted it up, the drink, twinkling in the dying light in a small thin vial.

All these months, all these months where Prompto had been so extra careful, mixing up the brew, when his father wouldn’t see, or his mother wouldn’t rat. It all had gone to waste. It didn’t matter now. All hopes of a quiet way out had vanished, the only way to rid of any memory of him and his mother from his father’s fucked up brain was out the window. Panic now drained Prompto ice cold.

His hands now grew cuts deep from the indents of his fingernails digging into his palms with rage. His father crushed the vial under his dirty boot. “It’s over.” He announced.

“No. No!” Prompto sprinted towards him grabbing his light shade and hitting it cold and hard on his father’s head. Then he did it again, and again. He went down as an old ageing tree had been chopped from its trunk. Maybe down for good, but Prompto did not wait to see. His feet tumbled down the stairs, he had stowed away a bag in a hidden wooden panel in the walls and collected it while noticing his mother was still in her chair.

He knelt beside her knees now hastily patched up and gently grabbed her hands, “We’re leaving, mother.” He said so softly, she rose her head as if she had awoken from a light afternoon nap, surprised by his presence. “Prompto, what have you done?”

He squeezed her hand without meaning to as he pleaded and she winced, dropping them away from him. “Please, mother, please, we must go find a life somewhere else.”

“We cannot.”

Prompto was confused but realisation had struck and he gasped, “You were the one.” He stood now, walking away towards the front door. “You told him about the vial.”

Her lips became pursed but she didn’t diverge. He felt something wedged in his throat. “I can’t leave you here.”

Prompto thought he heard something. A distant thud. “Please.” He said one last try.

“Do what you want without me, child. We were never a family, we had to take you in, do you hear me? _Had to_.”

“He’s bad, mother.”

“To you.” She simply put it. _To you…_

“Go then.” He did. And as he did, he heard her cry, running upstairs, hearing her fall slightly then grasp herself up again.

Prompto heaved on the cobblestoned lane, then something fluffy pushed up against his calf and he jumped aside.

A chirp. It was Carm.

“Let’s go, Carm, we do not belong here anymore. Or maybe I never did, I don’t know.”

He walked a few paces, his breathing consuming his hearing. Then he paused looking back at his home, the one home he always had, the only one he has known his whole life, to be held in his glance one last time.

“I hope she finds her way, I hope she sees the monster for what he is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: I will be away for a few weeks so there will be a delay for the next update, thanks for your support! Also if you wanna chat you can find me on twitter @tzingfung and tumblr at tzingfung.tumblr.com.


	3. PROPHECY III.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back. I say that loosely for the same reason why I was gone for so long in the first place. I’ll try my best to avoid another backlog. I've been working on other personal projects such as writing competitions and novel work, but I won’t bore you in the details of my life too much. If you want more details you can follow me on twitter @tzingfung. I hope you’re all doing well and that you enjoy this new chapter.

**PROPHECY III. - “He will fight the past with his new-born fate that twists the knife into the spirit of the Fates’ hands, the new kind that came out from a bloody and scorched birth. Only his backwards present can bring shutters upon himself and the life he should charge towards for a brighter future.”**

It has been a few years but long enough for the turn of change for Prompto.

The world had worked against him. So much so that his stare grew cold with age, his hands stiffened to awaited perfection and the horizons no longer held his dreams but the ordinary landscape of rolling hills and the big city. He still had a longing for his first love: his camera, cherished it like a fading memory but it was deep in the thicket of his backpack now, forlorn and untouched. He was stubborn and full of spite and had the impatience of a restless bull, no longer that sweet young boy he once wore like a medallion, it was now a place to rest his head on a guillotine. The past clung to him as a red-hot iron would press deep to his skin searing its mark trading it for a tattoo. He grew to understand how to stay prominent and fierce on the streets alone, windswept and broken but outwardly unscarred to those who saw him.

Prompto changed in many ways that if he would see his reflection now he would see a grown man, a stranger with the same coloured eyes and the same coloured hair, though now bubbling with the youthfulness of his early twenties. His muscles were now far more pronounced and terse, the roundish glow of his face chiselled down to a steep and sharp angle and his body was lean and towering tall. He was stronger, mightier but he lost a lot in turn. No guts no glory, right?

All the sacrifices were catering towards his final destination, in the hope of a change. The wind tugged his elbows and swept at his heels towards the golden gates that he dreamt of for years: the gates to the palace. Just when he had felt he was fully ripened, it was time to meet his ends, though to him, he would not know that yet, how his beginnings would be the ones to tie up the bitten off ends.

He begrudgingly didn't want to be seen but he very much wanted to be found. Maybe it was why his stubbornness took him down to his knees and sat on the dark steps of the palace, come rain and come to the expected storm of rushing guards to take him away. The same stubbornness that took his actions of rapping his whitened and tender knuckles against the purely white doors to a gridlock. He would not defy these faults but he would not work with them either, there was too much grief that stood in his way of growth that has stunted it.

"What are you doing?" A voice rising from the hollow depths of sirens and rasping chatter from civilians dotting the busy perimeter outside the palace.

The line between 'us and them' was clean and cut by the towering structure being cold and silent while everyone rattled loud nonsense against its golden gates. This voice made Prompto jump in his spot a little, his slack shoulders that fell into his chest was now brooding with muscles, terse and tight.

"Come now, Ignis, look at the guy! You alright there? Come in! It's cold out here." Another male voice joined in beside him.

"Gladiolus! You can't, you can't very well   "

"Do what?"

Prompto looked up against the shining glorious light of deep sunset, the two figures marooned in such brightness they were simply silhouettes, the light absorbing any detail the figures had. The young man who had just spoken, was flaring up with such a reasonable strong smile, his own confidence sweetened his broadness.   He jibed the other with affection, they clearly know each other well.

"What's your name, kid?" Gladiolus turned to Prompto now with the same knight in shining armour gleam to his lips, he didn't look that much older than Prompto but somehow the latter felt fiery against the fact he chose to belittle him with such chosen words, whether deliberate or not.

"Prompto." After a beat, he decided to add, "Uh, Prompto Argentum." As if it meant a thing. He searched their eyes for any sign of recognition but it simply glossed over them.   

"Well, welcome to the castle! King Regis always has room for another lost Wayward Boy." With a wink, he slides open the doors which Prompto stood beyond for hours, had now been revealed an entrance. What lay in the hands of Regis could simultaneously dismantle Prompto's whole wellbeing as well as build him up to a golden structure to the gods.

Like the light Prometheus had uncovered for all simple humans to admire and meddle with, Prompto was ready to see what the world for what it really is even if it would reveal its pouring bloody guts down on him.

 

The three of them were small hollow shadows simply passing by in the empty winding hallway, reaching out and birthing into many other rooms and directions of the large architecture.

Suddenly, Prompto felt like an unsolicited spec of dust in a castle far more grander than he would ever be. Living on the streets for that long and to then be placed in the high end would do that to you.

"Regis would love to see you, new kid, hasn't seen a change of face in a damn while." Gladiolus chuckles and it rang about the hallway like the chiming of church bells but in a lot more of a haunting manner.

"King..." The other tapped his shoulder for correction. Ignis. Prompto reminded himself.

"Right. Well, Prompto you'll see a lot of us about whether you'll like it or not as we're-" He nudged more viciously this time. Gladiolus attempted to cough it off discreetly but Prompto had already caught on, never missing a beat with his tired eyes. He wondered if the other man was really ready to spill the kingdom's darkest secrets that easily.

"We're around a lot... because we live here also." He finished lamely and Ignis sighed looking down at his feet.

Before Prompto could say a suspicious word in edgewise, Ignis spoke up, "And we'll be of help to you in any way you need." He said so rather matter-of-factly rather than any means of endearment or affection. He props up his glasses on the bridge of his nose and smiles in his own small way defect of any warmness.

"Thanks." Prompto resided.

"Well, we'll just leave you to it then, just through those doors."

Prompto nods and lifts a hand up as a prompt and curt way of goodbye, never truly understanding people that take you all but the way to the final destination, why can't they take him through the doors, through the unexplored threshold?

Prompto's fingertips ghostly stroked the doorknob. Was it fear? Expectations that had obviously drawn him back, if it weren't for the two he had just met would he still be pondering his outcome on the castle's front step?

It was a marvellously crafted golden handle, suddenly it jolted and started to manoeuvre by itself, Prompto took a step back unexpectedly. A large thick gut of a man with exuberating detail and intricate armour that wore him rather than he wore it, stepped out the door with a heavy foot.

Prompto edged his head up, the man loomed over him consuming the room's contents and secrets. The stranger in the armour might as well have been made of gravel and stone, his eyes were dark and cold, his shoulders rough and his face pointed, smooth but showed no movement, until a quick glance down at the boggling young man.

"And who are you?" _Nice to meet you too, not so friendly giant._

"I'm Prompto...Argentum that is." His words felt thin on his tongue, whatever he has to say may mean but dust to this man. So, Prompto coughed straightened himself up and steps forwards, tugging up his backpack on his shoulder. "I am a potential Wayward Son of King Regis. I ask for an audience with his majesty."

It was funny to Prompto, almost an unthinkable trait that had grown on him in recent years since leaving, what he called home, or who he would call home. That his gnarly ironic snarl to each turn of his sentence grew with more rebuttal and spite. If it was him before, the person he was before, those years back, he would not have been so forward just now.

The man that grew twice the size of Prompto looked at him, dead set in the eye and let out a funny gurgling noise, full of distaste.

"No can do." His voice sniped,   it was quick and not short of a despicable grunt. Prompto nevertheless, dog-tired from spending his endless days and nights on the streets, finally achieving what he had been aching for all along, getting into these walls stopped short by a man so quick to judge probably from the tatted clothes that matted Prompto's body or the stench that he grew to adjust as to the odourless scent of air.

"Well, you can tell him I came all this way out and will not leave until I see him."

"Hold it, Shorty." The guard raised his hand, his eyes became adamant. "You will speak to King Regis' son, the prince, in his absence because-" He started to squat down a little to see eye to eye with Prompto, "-He's a busy and important man, that unlike you, hasn't got time to dilly dally, got it?"

Prompto's nod was prompt, he did all he could not to do and or say anything that would immediately mean a boot to his ass out of the premise. He felt sick when he saw the man's taunt grin.

The door sighed with a warm burning essence, Prompto's nostrils tingled and stung. The whole sensation lathered his face with a gust of dull ardour and a pouring rush of burnt out memories of his past.

It was bright with sunlight now. The whole palace was drenched in dark pools of plague black, but here? It was all the sun could hope to touch, everything bathed in creams and golds that of just-baked pastry. The room filled to the brim with vases, paintings that grew and stretched from top to bottom, side to side, of flowers that were bloody or that of colours as if the sun itself had breathed life into it, the rugs were dotted with colour and intricate patterns and the tapestries matched all else but had its own unique story to tell. Though it was all crowded with inanimate objects that made the eye wander at such a speed to inhale it all at once, Prompto felt the presence of another.

A boy had positioned himself with one leg swung up over the back of a regal sofa and the other aloft skidding his toes against the soft carpet below. His eyelashes brushed gently against his cheeks as he hummed a lullaby but Prompto knew from his own childhood, it was a tale about the prince who perished under his own father's hand. It was not a lovely song by lyric but by melody and therefore grew with popularity since the dawn of its birth.

Their eyes met at once and the corner of the boy's mouth twitched upwards before it morphed into a deep roaring yawn as he sat up.

"I'm Prompto Argentum." He greeted himself with what felt like the hundredth time that day. "Verstael Besithia is my father." Prompto's voice was steady but his hands trembled with a force he couldn't control.   

If Prompto was waiting for recognition, he wasn't satisfied. The boy got up then, a few feet from where Prompto stood. They were the same height, Prompto thought, he grew but so did the boy. Nevertheless, Prompto still found himself looking upwards. It would always be that case with the prince, his place resided with the gods in the sky.

"Well, Prompto, I'm Noctis." He got closer. Prompto hoped he would not ask for anything, he was very much happy to stand just as still as the regal sofa.

Noctis smiled a small smile, his arm withdrew from his side and Prompto felt the warmth of it by his side. Noctis latched onto the doorknob and swung it wide open for him.

"Guard, show this new Wayward Son around."

And just like that Prompto knew he was already out and vanished from the prince's mind.

 

Prompto knew the tales of the castle, of its empty halls filled with the many ghosts of unwanted offsprings known to everyone as the Wayward Sons. They were taken in much as they would in foster care, homed by the outwardly stoic but secretly loving arms of King Regis himself. 

But on the contrary, the boys were not ghosts, they were not haunting the halls, this was the only space for solitude and acceptance in the land and this was the home for these courageous but happy bunch. They drank the richest of spiced wine, spilling sparingly on the dark mahogany dining tables, singing old merrily war tunes that spoke the death of thousands. Not a care in the world but their own vanity and diligence.

The laughter rang into a singalong tune and that’s when Prompto saw his lips first, biting down his enthusiasm, then his hands, thin and meddling with utensils, with the fresh fruit and swung up in the air as the music piped higher. Noctis. Prompto dropped a grape he was pinching, the juices running down his fingers, he became sour in comparison to the sweetness he had just witnessed. Noctis' eyes glinted towards him naturally, he felt it touch but he could say it did no more as Prompto strode out of the hall, leaving his plentiful plate of dinner untouched.

That wistful night, Prompto retreated to his room. The room was full of bunk beds fitted into rows. It felt a lot like a summer camp without the temporal state of summer coming and going as quickly as it was felt. 

After a few hours, then the slow turn of one minute moving achingly to the next, Prompto gave in to his insomnia. He sat up to take a sip of water, through the deep swarm of hushed breathing and the slow quakes of sudden snores, there was a thinly laid out tune. A violin, it seemed to be, it danced with the shadows. Prompto spent hours sitting on the windowsill watching the moon infiltrate the clouds and harbour its beloved sky with her pure bright allure. He let the melody wash over him, cleansing him with all his worst kept secrets until they whisked away from his thoughts. But just barely.

 

It was surreal to wake with a lung full of fresh air and a light head. Prompto hadn't felt this way in a very long while. He bit down a smile and was astounded by the sudden chatter and clatter of plates harshly placed against the tables at breakfast in the great hall. 

"Someone seems chipper." Ignis chuckled under his breath. It only then did Prompto realise he was humming the melody he had heard from the night before. He had just down beside Ignis and Gladio (he asked him to call him such as soon as he nodded to him to sit on their table) from the other day.

"Maybe he's turned a new leaf." Gladio had a glint to his eye that Prompto did not like, was this a euphemism by any chance?

"What's that supposed to mean?" Prompto's eyebrows knitted together, he didn't appreciate how comfortable they were with him already when they barely knew him.

"You just seemed like you had seen better days when we first met," Gladio answered honestly and without a flicker of an eye.

Prompto assesses him for a moment then resigns by taking a bite out of his toast, it was too early to keep his walls up. "Yeah, well, I've been living on the streets since what seems like forever, defending myself against rats and other people alike, so you know of course I would look like shit." He takes another bite, not looking them in the eye.

"You know, this place has always been open," Ignis added as he fixed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah," Gladio piped up again, "it's not like you had to wait for application date or a spot to open up for you." He cracks up not catching on Prompto's speedy growth of frustration.

Prompto squints at him, his hands gripping tightly to the edge of the table. "You wouldn't understand." He shot up from his seat, and takes his time looking between the two, "Both of you wouldn't get it. 

With their faces agape, he takes his food and leaves without any explanation. It only took a moment for it all to settle in, he felt like a child having a tantrum but he was still furious. He's right, no one would understand what happened to his dumbass father, of his mother that was adamant on staying with that monster, how he had to leave everything he has ever known behind him and try to forget about it.

Prompto was heading towards the exit when someone shouts over the din. "Hey, new kid!"

Prompto slowly turned around to see a wave of jumbling heads pop up and down looking towards him from the table on the other side of the hall.

"Sit over here!"

Prompto sighs and points to his empty tray he just cleaned.

He half expected that to be it but the boy with a much-exaggerated effort got out of his seat and only moments after tugged on Prompto. "Just sit, let's talk." And before Prompto knew he was the centre of a large table full of other rowdy boys.

The boy that was in his neighbouring seat gave him a toothy grin as he slaps his back hard. Prompto attempted to act casual but it crowded and it was too loud to think straight, that was when he saw him. His thumb and index finger smoothly rimming his lower lip, Noctis looked up but by instinct Prompto quickly withdrew his heavy gaze and moved his focus onto the boy that was tapping the tabletop to an imaginary tune.

"So, what's up?" Prompto finally asks, curious to why he was brought over there in the first place. Prompto felt his face heating up unexpectedly as he could sense Noctis watching him in his peripheral vision.       

"Just wanted to see if everything's fine, you know? You being the new guy and all, things can get tough. Heard a little ruckus over there." A beat. "You always this angry?"

Prompto refrained from rolling his eyes by closing them. It's been a long day, no it was still only morning. "No." it came out too quiet.

"What?"

Prompto cleared his throat, "No, but this is me right now, all me, this moment in time, so deal with it, this is how I am, alright?" He quickly glanced at Noctis, he couldn't help it, but the boy was now looking away not paying attention to the drama beside him.

"Well, if that's all it was, I'm going. Bye." He ended pathetically and finally left the room.

"Wait!"

_I swear if I hear another person trying to stop me I'll..._

Prompto was in an empty corridor, he grimaced before he heard the voice repeat but more softly this time "Wait."

Prompto stopped in his tracks, and as he turned, he retracted a breath when he saw that it was Noctis watching him intently.

"Do you... " He started off, everything seemed more impersonal in this corridor, echoing with the hushed secrets that even Prompto didn't know as of yet. "Do you want to go out to practice with me?"

Prompto tried to find his breath and when he finally did he let it go and said, "Okay."

_Why would I say no?_

_Why did I find myself saying yes all the same?_

 

There were a number of classes taught to the Wayward Sons, consisting of fighting, learning an instrument, taking orders, to name just a few. It was a small militia for the crown, it was pretty fucked but Prompto had no complaints, many others did for that matter but he didn't allow it to press him.

The training grounds for any outside sport or fighting classes were situated out at the back of the castle. Green and trimmed daily it looked lush around the circles of sand that was pitted this way and that.

Everyone but the prince had the same trainer, due to the fact that the prince himself was strictly told to be taught alone, alone until Prompto challenged such.

"He can't join you with your training, I'm sorry, your majesty." The trainer was sweltering under the heat the day had brought but Prompto also felt that he may be fearing the worst, disobeying the prince's wishes.

Noctis had his arms folded. It was weird for Prompto to see him like this, he noticed how he walked about the castle, the training grounds too as if he didn't have the weight of the whole of Altissia weighing down his shoulders. He was too airy, carefree but most of all defiant. He always had everything mould into his way, or he'd find a way how.

"This boy might as well have no skill at all in comparison to you, your majesty." Right for the heart.

"I'll help with that," Noctis responded as if it was as simple as the ABCs, it was too much of Prompto's disbelief as he, himself was ready to walk away, though curious he may be to see the other boy fight. No one got to see that, that was an unmissable opportunity.

The trainer almost forgetting whose presence he was in as he goes on to say with a stare of disbelief, "You sure about that?"

But Noctis was relentless and Prompto couldn't tell why could not explain away why he chose him above all the other boys who have been here far longer and for sure were better at stabbing and jabbing. Whether, despite all changes internally and externally that brandished Prompto, Noctis really did recall him from their earlier years together in school or that he treated all the new kids this kindly once they arrive.

The trainer reluctantly grants Noctis' wish and turned away to collect their weapons

"You didn't need to do that for me."

"It was nothing." Noctis waved off. _Right. Nothing. Probably._

The trainer returned brandishing two hefty swords. The heated anxiety swelled up in Prompto as soon as the swords started to shimmer against the noon's sun.

He was good with his fists, sure, but a sword was an entirely different tale to tell.

"You want me to use that?" Prompto attempted and almost instantly failed to blanket his panic under a sheepish smile.

Noctis already had chosen his weapon, gilded gold with fine carvings. It was flashy, too flashy for Prompto's own liking. Noctis effortlessly twirled the hilt about as he stretched his body with it, to and fro. Prompto couldn't help but gawk at him as he did so, he amazed at how fluent and one with the sword Noctis was as if he was made for this kind of stuff. It was in the prophecy, everyone knew it, so, of course, he was.

"There are other weapons you'll soon acquire but for now, you must keep to the basics and understand them well to utilise them." The trainer watched his student while not noticing Prompto was half ready to run away from this new awakening fear.

Prompto heaved a sigh and finally lifted up his own sword, it was finer than Noctis' flashy one, it was coated with sleek silver but not as delicate as one made it out to be, it has seen better days for sure but its sharpness was still intact.

The trainer pushes him to the side before Prompto could make a move.

"You must first speculate, get to see what the moves look like, how the swords sound as they clash against each other and not within the flesh before you attempt to piece it all together and do it yourself."

Prompto scoffed at the trainer but before he could argue, Noctis was unravelling himself from his usual black shirt. It was boiling that day, Prompto couldn't believe how cool and how bloated the clouds were with rain when he first arrived the other day. Prompto was sweating but he couldn't quite pinpoint if it was due to the heat or something else prickling beneath the surface.

Noctis starts towards the sand circle, twirling his sword around and around, then swinging it to side to side, his eyes set on the trainer who had his own weapon.

Prompto leaned against an old nearby billowing tree fine with its ample foliage for shading him. The sun grazed against Noctis' back, highlighting his shoulder blades that were smoothly manoeuvring as he flexed his sword this way and that, a block, tensing up and falling apart again as he thrashes the sword forwards. There was a tough jab and his legs had to do a lot of work keeping his ground. Thighs were thick and bulging as he steadied himself, blocking the trainer's sword with his own. He blocked a potential stab and three, two, one, Noctis suddenly launched himself forwards with a new fiery feat. Left jab, to the right, under the ribcage and soon the two both landed on the ground. Prompto got up and jogged over as he saw Noctis, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes squinting with concentration and his sword to the trainer's throat.

A few moments had passed and then Noctis finally got up offering his hand to his opponent. He was smiling, ear to ear.

"...So like that then?" Prompto asked in pure disbelief, this is what he wants, this skill, what a skill. The heat had risen to his cheeks from pure excitement.

"Just like that," Noctis answered with a levelled voice as if he had simply blown a feather away from his shoulder.

That night, Prompto fell asleep to the sound of a different melody. He dreamt of the colours of gold, yellow and orange, he dreamt of the dancing sunlight. It was hard to see anything clearly, and he dreamt of back muscles that swam in the sun, the shoulder blades that fought for freedom.


End file.
